


The Fix

by tehta



Category: Nimona (Webcomic)
Genre: Anvilicious Metaphors, Gen, Humor, Meet-Cute, Orphan Angst, Unwarranted Optimism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2377652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehta/pseuds/tehta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how Ambrosius met Ballister, and of how he lost him.</p><p>(Warnings for sad orphan angst and gratuitous heavy-handed metaphors. Not my favourite among my stories.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fix

Glue -- Ambrosius needed glue. There had to be some somewhere in the building: in one of the classrooms, perhaps? If he assumed he could find it, then all he really had to do was put the vase back together, like a puzzle. It should be easy, since there were so many pictures. For example, this big piece showed half of a dragon, and wasn’t that a wing on that smaller shard back there, by the wall?

Ambrosius knelt down, gathered up both pieces, and held them side by side. Although his hands shook a little, he could see that the pictures were, indeed, parts of the same beast. Well, that was good! Except that… it was not quite good enough. Even with the edges touching, there was a clear line across the dragon’s chest where tiny flakes had broken off. He would have to find them, but there were so many flakes all over the floor. At least a million! Would he have time to sort them all out before he was discovered?

Perhaps not, but he had to try. 

He started by pushing all the pieces into a single pile on the cold stone floor. Handling the shattered mess made him feel even colder, and reminded him of other sad, destroyed things. Destruction was such a mystery. How could a vase, a whole, complete thing, change into something so broken in just a moment? He had barely even brushed against that table! And perhaps he should not have been running, only he had been feeling so good, so… well, happy, almost. Because, really, this place was amazing. Infinitely better than the streets. Surely they would not throw him out so soon after taking him in? Not over a little accident, a second of inattention?

“Hey.”

Ambrosius looked up, startled. He had not noticed the dark-haired boy’s approach.

“What are you doing?” the boy asked.

What did it look like? “Fixing it.”

The boy stared at him evenly. “I do not think,” he said, “that it can be fixed. Not completely. You should just leave it, and go.”

“Leave it?” Ambrosius straightened. “But… it’s all broken.”

“So? Nobody will know it was your fault.”

“And what if they ask?”

The boy looked a little offended. “I won’t tell. I wouldn’t!”

“Well, I would. It is dishonourable to lie.” Or so Mother had always said, back when-- Ambrosius’ eyes felt hot. He rubbed at them angrily, and returned to his task, flipping the larger pieces picture side up.

After a few moments, the boy knelt down by his side. “I really doubt that--”

“Go away.”

But the boy didn’t. Instead, he reached forward, turned over a small piece, revealing a flower, and placed it next to the other flowers Ambrosius had been collecting. His next two pieces were blank, but after that--the head of the dragon!

This was totally going to work!

Ambrosius speeded up his own efforts; his companion did likewise. They kept at it, silent, but not in an uncomfortable way. It was almost like they were playing, racing to see who could do more of the puzzle, and this was just the first stage, where you pick out all the obvious pieces. And yes, it was taking a while, but that did not matter. At least not until...

“What is the meaning of this?”

Ambrosius had not wanted to believe that the creaking sounds he had been hearing were the approaching steps of an adult, but now that the large-nosed woman was looming above them, looking utterly outraged, he could not ignore her so easily. He took a shaky breath, preparing to speak.

The other boy beat him to it. “The vase broke,” he said. “We are just tidying up.”

“Oh, the vase broke, did it?” The woman set her hands on her hips. “Of its own accord? And you two little vandals had nothing to do with it, perfect innocent angels that you are?”

Ambrosius knew, even without looking, that the other boy was staring at him, willing him to stay quiet. Willing him to lie! In response, he tossed his hair back defiantly, and rose to his feet. Conquering the fear that shook him made him feel quite heroic.

“No, I--” he begun.

“No, of course not, matron,” said the other boy quickly, still sitting on the cold, unheroic floor. “I broke it.”

“What?” Ambrosius could hardly believe his ears. “Why would you-- Matron, don’t listen to him. It was me!”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Yes, it was!”

“No, it was definitely me, and I want to apo--”

“You are a liar and a knave, and it was--”

“SILENCE, BOTH OF YOU.”

The Matron’s deep, loud voice seemed to fill the entire room. Ambrosius froze, cringing a little, and looked up at her again.

“I know exactly what you two are up to,” the Matron said. “Thinking you are so clever, with your attempts to confuse me. As if I had not been seeing right through horrible urchins like yourselves since before you were born! Well, know this, scoundrels: I see no problem with punishing you both.”

 

 

The punishment turned out nowhere as awful as Ambrosius had feared. Nobody got thrown out into the street, or even beaten. The two of them were simply banned from dinner every other day for several weeks, until they had “paid for the precious object they had so thoughtlessly destroyed.”

With the dorms so empty and quiet while everyone else was downstairs in the dining hall, it would have been weird not to seek each other out; having met up, it would have been weird not to talk.

They began by establishing some important, basic facts.

For one, they quickly agreed that lying was, indeed, wrong in general, but perhaps acceptable when done for a good cause. Which led to the related point that helping small kids when they got in trouble was a good cause; even a noble one. But Ambrosius was definitely not a small kid, even if he wasn’t very tall at the moment, and anyway even that was going to change any time now. 

“Not if you keep missing dinner,” said the other boy, whose name was apparently Ballister. Ambrosius thought it was a good name, far better than ‘Ambrosius’--not that he was planning to admit it. And yes, Ballister was a bit older, but they were in the same class anyway, so his age did not give him any advantage over Ambrosius. 

One thing that might have given Ballister a real advantage was the fact that he still had a father, outside in the town. But Ballister claimed that his father did not count, since he had sold him to the Institution to cover some gambling debts.

“What?” Ambrosius had asked. “No, you can’t sell family. I mean, there are laws against selling people, and also, surely, a father--”

“Well,” said Ballister, his mouth set in a tight line, “my father brought me here, and then they gave him money. Call that what you like. Not that I care. I am better off without him.”

“No, don’t--” Ambrosius could not imagine feeling that way, and did not want to. “Look, even if your father did bring you here, perhaps it was not for the money. Perhaps he wanted to… protect you. Maybe he needed to put you somewhere safe because he had to go on a dangerous secret mission somewhere far away.”

“I saw him outside the posting inn the other morning,” said Ballister. “He was lying by the horse-troughs, passed-out drunk.”

Ambrosius had met some drunks, out on the streets. They were very easy to run away from. Not secret mission candidates, at all.

“So then,” he tried again, “maybe he needed--”

No, it was no use: Ballister was not really listening. Stories would not help, here. But another idea struck him, sudden and inspired. He slid a little bit closer to Ballister, turned towards him, and wrapped his arms around his body in a tight hug.

Ballister froze. Ambrosius had never felt anyone tense up like that before, but it did not seem like an entirely bad reaction, since Ballister did not try to shake him off, or move away. So, the hug was probably making him feel better. It certainly felt good to Ambrosius: it had been very long since he had been so close to anyone.

“Anyway,” he told Ballister, ”you don’t need to think about that stuff. You are here now, and this place is great. It’s dry. There are proper beds. And proper food.” He felt his stomach contract at the thought. “Well, usually. Also, we are in training to become knights! As a knight, you could do chivalrous deeds and help people of all sizes, and it wouldn’t be weird like it was with the vase. We both could!”

At that, he felt Ballister relax a little.

“I have a book about knights,” Ambrosius continued, encouraged. “Want to see it?”

\-----  
\---  
-  
\---  
\-----

Ambrosius needed to sleep. The Director had been very clear about that.

“Stop bothering people with pointless, irrelevant questions, Goldenloin,” she had said. “We have a ceremony to plan.”

“But I really want to--” Ambrosius had begun, before recalling how much she disapproved of emotions. Especially his most private ones. “I mean, it is only right for a knight to want to know how his fallen opponent is faring. And Ballister--”

“Is in the care of our excellent doctors, who will eventually send us a full report. Even without being pestered. Until then, I need you to collect yourself, and focus on more important matters. Or have you lost interest in being inducted as Champion?"

Ambrosius felt a surge of panic. “Of course not! I am still at the realm’s service, and perfectly collected and focused, I promise.”

“And yet you still seem... distraught.” The Director’s gaze was cold. “But perhaps it is merely the excitement of the day. Perhaps a good night’s sleep will help. Go home, Goldenloin. When you return here tomorrow morning I expect you to act, and look, like a hero the Institution can be proud of.”

And so, Ambrosius went home to sleep; but sleep would not come. When he closed his eyes, all he could think about was the broken vase. He kept recalling, very vividly, how it had felt to suspect that it could never be put together again, that he had ruined everything with a single careless action. And how he had tried to fix it, in a panicked confusion that had miraculously transformed into serenity when Ballister joined him in working on the unsolvable puzzle.

Ballister. Yes. He definitely needed to speak to Ballister soon. Not just because it might calm him, as it had back then, but for so many other, less selfish reasons. He needed to tell Ballister that he was sorry, that it had been an accident... Which it had been, surely! After all, that was how how everyone referred to the unfortunate injuries suffered during training, or even during tournaments. Weapons were built to cause damage; it was all a question of intent, and surely anyone with any sense would know that Ambrosius would never, not in a million years, truly intend to hurt Ballister. Even if it looked as if he--

No, the director was right. The Institutions’ doctors were excellent. Ballister would be just fine. And the profoundly uncomfortable dread that had filled Ambrosius when the smoke had cleared, when he had caught a glimpse of the mess, of the alien, lopsided silhouette of Ballister's body, was clearly an over-reaction. Everyone knew he was prone to those: even Ballister complained about it. No doubt he would complain again, when they finally spoke. Oh, Ambrosius could just picture it now: Ballister, making that fake-exasperated face, and using his constructive-criticism voice, and saying that one should not jump to exaggerated conclusions on the basis of a single glance.

Ambrosius sighed, and stretched -- and yawned. At last, sleep seemed almost possible. Clearly, what had been true during the incident with the vase was still true, even now: he did not need to speak to Ballister to feel calmer. Indeed, simply thinking about him was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. Thanks to Dilly, Wulfila, and Lenine for commenting on my drafts!
> 
> 1\. Gentle readers, I would like to share two tumblr links with you:  
> http://gingerhaze.tumblr.com/post/48333744902/originally-in-the-comic-we-got-a-little-more  
> http://gingerhaze.tumblr.com/post/59054754394/i-said-i-would-post-some-baby-knights-pictures-so  
> They both feature adorable art and, more importantly, several details I used in this story. (Mostly the bits about the boys’ parents. Yes, Ballister’s gambler dad is canon.)
> 
> 2\. As mentioned in the summary, I am aware that the shattered vase metaphor is rather heavy-handed. It also dominates the fic somewhat. Now, this is not normally my cup of tea, but the idea for this story just would not let me go, probably because I was amused by the meet-cute scene. Oh, and because I really wanted to present my thoughts on the aftermath of that joust, and I am much better at speaking through fiction than at writing meta.
> 
> 3\. I am also aware that I am kind of monopolizing this fandom. Come on guys! Help me out!
> 
> 4\. Comments, including concrit, are always welcome.


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